Suddenly, everyone is interested in adapting Pinocchio. Again. Between Guillermo Del Toro providing that wooden freak with an Italian-set World War Two backdrop or the second adaptation Roberto Bengini has tried and failed to present, the famed puppet of literature is back again. Somehow, it gets worse than that. Robert Zemeckis, the hands of old, tries and fails to give a straight-shooting adaptation of Pinocchio, still presumably furious at his animation push being shut down after producers and audiences were unconvinced by his pre-L.A. Noire animated fumbling. It is not the viewers’ fault that Beowulf and The Polar Express look as rubbery as the angry mob from the opening of the first Shrek movie. But it is not their fault that his adaptation of Pinocchio is horrific, either.
Tom Hanks’ streak of questionable projects continues with his frequent Zemeckis collaborations. Zemeckis’ streak of awful projects continues with this disgusting adaptation of Pinocchio. He has seen the low bar of Welcome to Marwen and slumped right under it. Disgusting stuff. Pinocchio, more immediately its introduction, is nightmare fuel. Joseph Gordon-Levitt voicing the anthropomorphic boiled brussels-sprout-looking Jiminy Cricket is an image that will live rent-free in the mind for some months after an initial viewing. Realistic animation may be the focal point of this, but it is utterly disgusting. Disney continues to embark on their adaptation of their animated classics, sapping the life and love out of them, replacing them with big names and gruelling plot development.
Hanks’ development of the role of Gepetto provides little in the way of confirmation of an achingly bereaved past. His excitement at the development of a talking puppet feels comically underdeveloped, but how can it get any better when the sincerity is struck off and removed? A blur of animation and real-world people works when there are distinct differences between the two. But the polish and absolute horrors of Pinocchio do not rest there. Horrible musical numbers and a colourful emptiness wash over the movie, bringing absolutely nothing of interest. Even Hanks, a normally firm set of hands-on awful movies, is terrible here. What was once a touching story of bonds between isolated souls is now an awkward and uncomfortably dull piece led by Cricket.
Surprising it may be that there is so much competition in the modern adaptations of Pinocchio arena, it would appear Zemeckis’ efforts are of no threat to anything in development. A tale from the 1800s reworked into an absolutely nothing piece. There is no new comment or momentum to carry Pinocchio. There is nothing positive that separates this from the piece Disney cranked out over eighty years ago apart from a need to milk it for a little more cash. Not a single ounce of respect, creativity or interest in the original can warrant a second glance at Pinocchio, a defunct piece that is as wooden as the real boy at the heart of it. But this Zemeckis feature has no heart. It has no soul. A completely decrepit feature without merit, note or respect for itself or the original piece it corrupts.
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